Allison Parr - Running Back

But I dealt with people and places long gone, not modern love. Not things that could affect me. And I stood by what I’d said; I agreed that the emotion of love was real. I was chock full of dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin. But that didn’t make it lasting.

What did I do now? Let it run its course, enjoy it while it lasted, love Mike with all my heart—well, with all my complimentary brain-produced chemicals? That was surely the healthy thing to do, the way most people functioned.

But if you knew pain was coming—how did it make sense to put yourself straight in the path of all that agony and depression? Wasn’t it stupid to stand on train tracks, even if you couldn’t hear the train?

I lifted my gaze above the Cathedral’s three arched portals to the gallery of kings, all carved drapes and endless crowns. But there were no answers in the stone.

I was beginning to think that was always the case.

We returned to Ireland, and rain.

The O’Connor women picked us up at the airport. They’d cancelled their northern trip due to the endless downpour, and spent the weekend in Dublin, where they could stay dry in museums.

They were not thrilled to hear about France’s lack of rain.

I found all the water soothing. The way it streaked across the windows, the way the ocean pounded against the land and sent up angry white sprays. The world was bleached of every color but green and gray, turned into some strange altered landscape where everything blurred together.

Back at the inn, we settled before the fire, talking about our trips and drinking hot tea and devouring the pastries we’d brought back. I studied Mike’s face, the curl of his lips, the crinkle of his eyes. The dimple when he laughed out loud.

Maybe I could just tell him and follow up by saying I didn’t expect anything. That I just wanted to share. That I was trying to be emotionally open, but I didn’t want to tie him down or anything.

A knock sounded. Jeremy leaned on the doorframe. Scruff roughening his jaw, and two lines folded the skin between his brows. “Natalie. You’re back. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” I uncurled and stood. I could feel Mike’s eyes as I followed Jeremy, who led me up to his room. “How was your weekend? Is everything okay?”

He shook his head and dropped into his desk chair. I hovered nervously. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

He kept his eyes steady on mine. “An article was published about you this morning.”

I actually placed my hand on my chest, I was so surprised. “Me? What did it say?”

His head wavered back and forth. “About Tamara Bocharov’s daughter, actually.”

My throat dried up. “I don’t understand.” Why would anyone write an article about me as my mother’s daughter? And if they did, why would Jeremy care?

Unless it was really an article about Kilkarten. My arms wrapped around my waist. “What did it say?”

He let out a deep sigh. “The original article was gossip. Nothing really.”

“Because it is nothing. How did anyone even find out?”

His gaze went over me. “Because of him.”

I whipped my head around to find Mike crossing from the top of the stairs to Jeremy’s door. He stopped close enough that I could feel his warmth, and stared right back at Jeremy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Natalie’s always been able to fly under the radar before. No one cared who her mother was. But apparently when a famous running back’s dating a supermodel’s daughter, it gets some attention. Especially when she’s searching for a lost city.”

Oh, God, it sounded like a made for TV movie. It could only get worse if there were aliens. “You said the original article. There were more? There were pictures from Paris, weren’t there? And someone followed up. And...Ceile? He hasn’t said anything, though, has he?”

Jeremy looked away.

My stomach dropped. “Already?”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not pretty.”

Mike tried to get an explanation once more. “So some articles were written. Who cares?”

Jeremy sent him a hard, sharp, glare. “Natalie is a professional. She’s smart and dedicated, and you made her look ridiculous.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s the absurdity of it all,” I said miserably. “It’s hard enough to get people to take us seriously. No one will fund Jeremy to look for Ivernis anymore, since there’s been too much failure in the past. And Ceile’s done too good a job at making us look like we’re ridiculous questers. And now if I come across as some ditzy blonde who’s just—who’s just playing around in her boyfriend’s backyard with money a wonderful establishment gave me—it’ll look like a joke. No one will fund us, and we’ll never find Ivernis.” I looked up at Jeremy. “What are we going to do?”

Jeremy’s gaze softened slightly when he looked at me. “We keep digging.”

“I am so sorry. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

He closed his eyes. “The only way to fix it is to prove Ceile wrong.”

I was still nodding when he shut the door.

I sagged. Mike caught me, and for a minute I rested against him and wished I didn’t ever have to leave his arms. And then I straightened and walked into our room.

He closed the door and sat down across from me. “If anyone thinks less of you because of your mother, and because you’re dating me, they’re the idiots.”

I pulled my laptop closer. “And it would be fine if it was just about me and you. Then it would be funny. Silly, sweet.” The first article that popped up was exactly that, a saccharine account of our romance, accompanied by a picture of us in our formal wear. “Or at least just celebrity gossip of no interest to the real world.”

He lounged in his seat. “I forgot I didn’t live in the real world.”

I clicked back. The first article had been dumb and flirty and flattering, if you were a football player or a model and wanted to be flattered.

I didn’t want to click the second link. Instead, I looked at Mike. “But it’s ammunition for Dr. Ceile.”

I opened the page.

Mike sat down behind me, reading off the screen. “‘Delusion Diggers.’ Catchy.”

I rubbed my hands over my nose and mouth, unable to look away.

Mike leaned closer. “‘Professor Anderson persists in his ridiculous quest for the lost city of Ivernis, accompanied by the daughter of ’80s supermodel Tamara Bocharov, playing Willie Scott to his Dr. Jones.’” He let out a snort. “The nightclub singer? Played by Spielberg’s wife?”

“We have a limited number of pop culture references.”

“‘Sullivan may be easy on the eyes, but she spends more time frequenting Parisian galas with her American footballer boyfriend than working in the field.’” He leaned back and grinned at me. “I don’t know, isn’t this a case of being so ridiculous it’s funny?”

I was pretty grossed out that Ceile called me easy on the eyes. “I get what you mean, but it plays into the feud between Jeremy and Ceile. And Ceile’s winning. People want to believe that Jeremy’s crazy.”

He studied me for a long moment, and drew the computer toward him. He spun it back my way after a minute. “You’re not the only one damned by public opinion.”

Top Ten Football Scandals of the 21st Century

Leopards Linebacker Arrested for Drug Use

Bisons’ Wide Receiver is Suspected of Battery

I sat there for a while. He had a point. Still... “It’s different when these are actually true.”

“You think every scandal you ever read about is true?”

I was silent.

“You can’t let it get to you. So people think you’re crazy. So what?”